Hogwarts: The Unity Chronicles
by content loading
Summary: Sure, everyone knows about the exploits of the famous Harry Potter. But what about the other students, ones we've never even heard of, doing their best to make Hogwarts a better place? Perhaps someone should tell their stories. This is one such story.


7

"Oh, this is so exciting! Murphy, dear, keep hold of your bags. You don't want to be late, do you?" Mrs. Whitmore tried to keep her high-pitched voice full of enthusiasm, but Murphy could see the anxiety lines creased across her heart-shaped face. He could also tell she was worried about him by the way she kept sweeping her chocolate-brown hair back on the left. And there was the fact that she had pinned him so tightly to her that both of them were having trouble walking.

"Now now, dear, the boy is growing up. First day of school and all, can't keep having to look after him. We can't exactly accompinna—acornipie—go with him to the castle, can we?" To their right, his father walked jovially along, his stick-like legs a little wobbly. But then, he was walking funny for a slightly different reason.

Mrs. Whitmore looked sternly at her husband. In a quiet voice she scolded him, almost hissing, "Really Toby, can you not even lay off the drink for your son's first day of school?" She grasped Murphy tighter still, so that between his mother and the three layers of warm clothing she made him put on that morning, he was starting to have trouble breathing.

"Come come, Mary, today is a celebration! Ought'nt we to treat it accordingly?" Mr. Whitmore swung his long arms out wide and swayed with an unheard melody.

"Oh, stop trying to sound like some playwright from the days of Shakespeare; it bothers me to no end when you do that." But her smile betrayed this as a lie. Murphy could only sigh resignedly and hope against hope that no one was listening, watching, or paying any attention at all to this mortifying display.

"Here we are, platform nine and quee-truarters—pine and tree—the train stop!" His father stopped abruptly and spun on his heel to face his son. "Now, the trick of the thing is to go as fast as you can at the barrier, so as to not give yourself the chance to think about it looking so solid." He said this rather loudly, drawing a couple of stares from muggles passing by on either side. Ignoring his wife's hushing noises and attempts to grab his attention, he spun about-face again, staring at the barrier as though it had challenged him to a dual. With a small cry, he dashed madly towards it, only to bounce off the hard brick and have his back hit the floor with a loud SMACK!

Murphy and Mrs. Whitmore winced. With equal parts concern and consternation, Mrs. Whitmore hurried over and pulled her husband to his feet, whispering, "I tried to tell you, the NEXT barrier is platform nine and three quarters!" She checked him over for any sort of injury, but he just slumped across her, his already impeded speech a little slurred from the blow to his head.

"It wash really the neksht won? Whoopsheeze! Hehehahah!" And with that, he traipsed over, staggering, and fell backwards through the brick of the next barrier.

Mrs. Whitmore just groaned and checked to make sure no one had been paying close attention. It seemed that no one had noticed that a very unsteady man had just disappeared into a solid archway. "Alright then, us next, Murphy. Are you sure you have everything?"

Murphy shook himself: he had been staring at the archway with which his father had collided. "Yes Mum, I've got it all right here." His tone was plain enough, but he gestured hopelessly at the cord that was tied to his wrist whose other end was secured firmly around a trolley carrying his luggage. His heart was beating fast, and he could feel a redness fill his cheeks.

"That's my sweet little boy," she cooed. She straightened his outermost jacket and swung him gently around to face the barrier. "No need to be nervous. Here we go, just like your father, only try not to let any muggles see you."

"Just like Dad!" but his protest was useless, her push sent him speeding towards the barrier, it filled his vision, his shut his eyes and prayed he would make it…and just like that he popped out on the other side. He let go a huge sigh of relief and glanced around with a small laugh. His mother, who had followed right behind, reached out to steady him. If she hadn't, his knees would've buckled.

In one glance, Murphy was amazed at the sight of the crimson Hogwarts Express. Growing up in a wizarding family, Murphy had seen many things that would astound even the most jaded muggles. Still, it was more than just the look of the train that made an impression on him. It was as though the very air around him swirled with hopes and dreams, goals and aspirations of years gone by. They streamed around the train like smoke billowing from the stack of the past. It was this air of promise that made Murphy stop and marvel at the magnificent sight of the Hogwarts Express.

"Quite something, isn't it dear?" Mrs. Whitmore smiled to herself. "Yes, it was quite a few years ago the last time I saw this train. It was always special, riding to Hogwarts, knowing what the year held in store." Her eyes misted over with fond memories, but the worries of the present brought her back sharply. "You brought enough clean underwear?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Tooth cleaner?"

"Yes, Mum."

"Rain boots?"

"Yes, Mum, I got everything." Desperate to change the subject, Murphy frantically whipped his gaze this way and that. Everywhere students milled in front of the train, loading their things, saying goodbye to their families, meeting up with friends once more. The hustle and bustle was so chaotic, all looking about served to do was muddle Murphy's head further.

Mrs. Whitmore smiled knowingly. "Oh Murphy, you must be anxious to see your friends. Go on then, go find them."

"Yes…" Murphy smiled weakly. "Yes, I'd love to see my friends…" In fact, there wasn't a group short of You-Know-Who's followers that Murphy would rather have run into instead. Murphy and his friends had had a recent falling-out, just in time for the beginning of their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Murphy was trying to forget the details, but part of it dealt with him accidentally turning his friend's pet toad into a potent explosive. It really hit the fan afterwards, when he jokingly offered to make amends by cooking frog legs for everyone. Murphy wasn't exactly what people refer to as "socially adept." In fact, he had a hard time making friends in the first place, nevermind keeping in good graces with them. Too often he couldn't apologize because he was busy wrenching his foot out of his mouth. With the promise of a new year had come a foolish hope that things could be different, that he could start over. As he viewed the multitude of faces around him, that hope grew dimmer and dimmer—

Quite suddenly, there appeared at Murphy's elbow a well-dressed boy about his same age, wearing a smile of familiarity and shaking his hand firmly. "Murphy!" he exclaimed in a voice rich with body and volume for someone so young, "Wonderful to see you, absolutely spiffing!" He pulled Murphy close in a friendly one armed hug while whispering, "Just go with me here." Pulling back again, he continued, "I haven't seen you in a while now. How've you been?"

"Oh—you know, hanging in there…" Murphy was completely flustered, struck dumb with confusion. He wondered vaguely who this extremely friendly, very bold young man was and why on earth he was talking to Murphy.

"You look to have gained a little weight over the summer. Not eating too much of your mother's delicious cooking, are you?"

Murphy still couldn't quite cotton on. "Well—I guess—it must be all the coats…"

"And these must be your parents! How marvelous to meet you at last. Murphy has told me so much about you both." Both Murphy's parents looked taken aback. They did not recognize this sharp boy either, though he had quite a striking appearance. His hair was jet black, wet-looking, and parted rather loosely down the middle. He wore a black leather vest over a white button-up shirt, with black dress pants and shining, highly polished black shoes. An elegantly simple watch wrapped itself around his right wrist, while what appeared to be a very ornate tattoo was just barely visible outside his left cuff. He swept low in a graceful bow. "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Charles Galloway, but my friends," he said with a pointed sideways glance at Murphy, "call me Charlie." He extended a slim hand in greeting.

Mrs. Whitmore was the first to remember her manners. She took the hand offered, and he bowed over the back of her palm. "Well, Charlie, what a polite young man you are. It is a pleasure to meet you as wel—"

"I don't ever remember Murphy mentioning you," Mr. Whitmore said with a slight suspicion. Then he seemed to switch moods instantly, becoming overly jolly all at once. He grabbed Charlie's hand and shook it vigorously, saying loudly, "Well met, little Charlie. I am Murphy's father, Tobias Whitmore. A pleasure indeed!"

Charlie just smiled widely as Mr. Whitmore shook his hand so hard his hair fell out of place. "Well, it's nice to know someone understands the celebratory nature of a new school year," he laughed.

Mr. Whitmore straightened up sharply, as though stricken. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked indignantly, though the effect was ruined slightly by a hiccup.

"Well, I just mean—" Charlie began in a back-peddling manner. "The other parents are all so serious—You look very happy for your son," he managed to say with some amount of grace left.

"Oh…yes, yes of course. Very proud of my little Murph!" Mr. Whitmore grabbed Murphy in a headlock and rumpled his son's hair a little too vigorously. When he let go and straightened up again, somewhat self-consciously, he whispered to his wife, "Maybe I did have a bit too much."

"You _think so_, dear?" she hissed back.

Charlie smiled again. "Yes well, we'd best get your things loaded onto the train, Murphy, it will be leaving shortly." With this he grabbed a hold of the tether anchoring Murphy to his luggage and began to help him haul it towards the train. With much huffing and puffing and some semblance of help from Mr. Whitmore, they managed to get it onto the car just as the departing whistle blew.

Mrs. Whitmore dashed forward and wrapped her son in a bone-crushing hug. "Now you—you need to be careful—take care of yourself, study hard" she almost started to sob. "I love you so much, do be good!"

For once, Murphy did not attempt to break free of his mother's grip. "I will, Mum. I love you too." Then the train started to move, and Mrs. Whitmore had to let go. She waved fervently, as Mr. Whitmore roared how proud he was of Murphy. His hand tiring of flapping back and forth, Murphy turned with equal parts reluctance and relief to fully board the train. As soon as he turned, he stopped and stared at one of the more awe-inspiring things he had seen in his life thus far.

There stood Charlie, leaning against the entryway to the train car. His right hand rested casually in his pocket, his left waving easily to a couple near the rear of the train station. A light smile rested on his lips, a confidence in his emerald eyes so complete they shined with an eager fire. Murphy had never before seen someone so relaxed, so at ease in such a frightening, intimidating situation as traveling to wizarding school. In that moment, he wished more intensely than ever before to possess the qualities of someone else. Charlie turned to Murphy and smiled, gesturing into the car. "Shall we then, _old chap_?" he said with a playful emphasis.

Murphy nodded, but before he had moved more than a step inside, he found his path suddenly blocked by a group of five students. With a sinking feeling, he recognized all of them except one. This was his old group of "friends", and he supposed the new face must have been his replacement. The others were mostly lost in the shadows, though, and only their leader's facial features were fully visible. This boy stood more than a full head taller than Murphy, and slightly wider, even with Murphy's multiple layers of thermal protection. He wore a red jacket, with khaki pants and simple tennis shoes. His left arm cradled an enormous bullfrog, and he was stroking its back ceaselessly. His square face was well formed, and his brown hair was simple, cut short. But the most easily noticeable thing about this young man was the intense look of malice distorting his features as he stared down his nose at Murphy.

Silence reigned for several moments. Finally Murphy managed to stammer, "H-hello, William."

William said nothing.

"I, er, I see you got a new frog," Murphy said with a false cheeriness, trying not to look William in the eye.

"My parents made me buy it." This statement was as short and pointed as William's young vocal chords could make it. Though he stood tall, his voiced hadn't changed in the slightest yet, and was very high in pitch. If what he saw didn't so blatantly contradict it, Murphy would have thought he was talking to a girl.

"Forced you to buy a new frog?" Murphy laughed nervously. "I sure wish my parents would force me to buy a pet, I can't bribe them into letting me get—"

"I meant I had to pay for it, stupid." William still had not moved, except to bring his hand back to the top of his frog's head. "So tell me, Puffy," he snarled, eyes growing larger and more enraged by the second, "kill many more pets lately?"

Murphy looked like he was watching a tennis match, the way his head whipped this way and that, looking for an intervening adult. "Oh, you know me, keeping busy," he joked, trying to laugh but having it die in his throat.

William wasn't amused. "Your little idiot of a mother dress you like that, Puffball?" he spat. "Is she so thick she can't see it's eighty degrees outside? And how about that drunk bugger you call a dad? Lovely little show he gave us all, tripping all over himself like a circus clown." His cronies hidden in the background laughed right on cue, then stopped when he held up his hand. He moved closer to Murphy, who backed up until he hit the door of the car. "So what about you, Puffball? What're you going to end up like, being their little git? An idiot drunk, strung out and dropped out, beggin' for your next bottle of sauce?" The riotous laughter started up again. Murphy was shaking now, desperate to find a way around William's huge frame but seeing none.

William grinned wickedly and reached above Murphy's head for the latch on the door behind him. "Maybe we should save you a lot of wasted effort, kick you out right here, you good-for-nothing."

"Excuse me?" Charlie piped up. William swung to stare him in the eyes. "William, is it? Quite the amphibian you have there." He pointed at the frog when William knotted his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you feed it?"

Murphy was trying to stay perfectly still and yet somehow warn Charlie of the impending doom he now faced. The best he could manage was to stare right into Charlie's eyes with a horrified look. In a glance from Charlie, Murphy saw something else in those eyes now. They were narrower, darker. More dangerous-looking.

"Bugs," William said with anger at being interrupted. "Bugs like you."

"Really?" Charlie grinned with self-assurance, and something else Murphy didn't quite understand. "Does it eat many spiders?"

"Whenever I can catch them." William twisted his head and leaned in close, so the heated breath rushing out his nose washed across Charlie's face.

"Fascinating. Tell me, have you ever seen a spider eat a frog?"

William straightened at the oddity of this statement. "Huh?"

With a flick of a something Murphy hadn't seen in his hand a second before, Charlie murmured something. He flicked it again, which gave Murphy time to observe its straight, thin shape and ashen grey color.

Suddenly a gigantic, hairy, many-jointed leg stretched out of William's jacket and reached for the bullfrog. With a yell William dropped his pet and ripped open his coat, only to see his brown t-shirt. The leg, and whatever it had been attached to, had disappeared. Panic quickly transforming into anger, William advanced on Charlie growling, "Why you little-"

"Everything all right, chaps?" One of the train attendants poked her head into the car, before fully stepping in to properly survey the scene.

Charlie smiled at her and shrugged. "We're fine here, thank you ma'am. William here just started to yell about something in his coat. We were trying to calm him down." He looked her right in the eye, nothing but friendliness, innocence, and reassurance in his voice. The straight object he held before was nowhere to be seen.

She looked over everyone, nodded her head, and said, "All right then. But you should all get to your seats, it's best not to be on your feet while the train is moving." Charlie smiled and pointed to the compartment to the right, to indicate where he was going to sit. Satisfied, she said, "Come along," ushering the shadowed four and William down the hallway after William had retrieved his frog. He shot both of the boys a look of pure antagonism before complying fully with the attendant's lightly pushing arms.

Murphy took a deep breath to try and steady himself. "Thanks," he managed to say, leaning heavily on the wall and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "He and I, we don't really—I sort of—thanks." He looked at Charlie with a mixture of gratitude and despair. Charlie only smiled back. "I, er, I appreciate the help with my parents too, they think I still—I mean, you know, that some kids actually like—thanks again." He smiled sheepishly. Charlie's smile never wavered for a second, and his eyes were kind again. Murphy grabbed up the tether to his baggage and made to move down the hall. "Well, I guess I'll just find—unless you were serious about, y'know…But you never really did offer, so I'll be—but I don't really have anywhere else, to..." he trailed off without a shred of the bravery he had strived to inject into his statements.

Charlie just didn't stop smiling. Wordlessly, he opened the nearest door in the compartment, grabbed a hold of Murphy's trunk, and gestured welcomingly inside.


End file.
